The Taste of Copper

Though it was not a frequent habit of mine
I rifled through my pockets,
And found several pennies.
I released them into the water
Of a fountain, with a significance greater
Than their monetary value.
Your pockets
Were already filled with change that danced
And shook when you walked
So you found you did not need to collect
The wealth of the water.
And when your coins tarnished
And spilled onto the pavement
Lost among the curb
You returned to the fountain
Not to invest, but to collect what remained.
I had no more pennies left to give you.
But it did not help that I turned my pockets inside out anyway.